


Your Body is a Map of Sin (And I, Your Cartographer)

by Ad_Astra



Series: Adrenaline Rush [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Makoto's Birthday Exchange 2013, Orgasm Denial, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/pseuds/Ad_Astra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the longest time, Makoto has remained too selfless, too soft, too madly in love with the world to stake his claim on anything or anyone. </p><p>Rin will make it a point to be the first and last.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Body is a Map of Sin (And I, Your Cartographer)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuzuryuufuyuhiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuzuryuufuyuhiko/gifts).



> This is set sometime in the future, around 7 years later. 
> 
> Written for the [Makoto Birthday Fanworks exchange 2013](http://makotobirthdayexchange.tumblr.com/), for the prompt 'porn and orgasm denial.'

 

There is a zen garden at the back of Rin’s house, a creature comfort Rei encouraged him to build when Rin first acquired the property from his late estranged grandfather’s escrow account. A garden was something that he never really considered, but his friends all jumped on the idea like death from above. Nagisa had jokingly told him it was practically medicinal for someone of such delicate blood pressure, Haru and Gou volunteered to design it, and Makoto volunteered to help build it. So he did, for it was nigh-on impossible to refuse in the face of such overwhelming enablers.

Looking back now, he is glad he listened. Rin likes his garden.  He likes that while it is small and simple, it is also tranquil and well-maintained. He likes the large grey-white stepping stones, uneven in many places, but serve their purpose of preventing inordinately enthusiastic creatures like Nagisa from slipping on the moss-covered soil. He likes the basins of white pebbles that Rei provided, artfully spread throughout the rectangular plot of land, creating illusions of winding pathways. He likes Gou’s selection of chartreuse and green hostas, surrounding the base of a maple tree, whose purple-red leaves contrast exquisitely with shades of green. He likes Haru’s addition of variegated hakone grass, softening the edges of the plot, providing colour and textural contrast that never fails to soothe the tiredness from Rin’s eyes.

Most of all, he likes the four pagoda stone pillars Makoto installed for him, which serve to light up the garden at night, enabling Rin to enjoy the greenery even after the sun has set. The way the incandescent light illuminates the grass and moss beneath the cover of darkness reminds him of Makoto’s eyes, and their pages and pages of expressions, and how he just wants to read them forever.

Sometimes, when Rin asks, Makoto does the gardening for him, partly because he likes physical work, partly because he loves the garden as much as Rin does (and possibly even more), but mostly because he knows Rin enjoys watching him. Today, he has just finished pruning the maple tree to its original architectural shape.

The sun is hot above them. The unforgiving summer heat has forced Makoto to discard his shirt, and even if Rin has seen that broad back a thousand times, the sight of it slick with sweat instead of chlorinated water sends a rush of heat curling in his belly, fire singing in his veins.

Quietly, he approaches, eyes drawn to the muscles of Makoto’s back, watching the way they shift beneath the tan skin, noting the places where dark scratches and finger-shaped bruises used to be, phantom marks that only Rin will remember.

Rin’s eyes slant lower. Makoto is wearing very worn-in jeans, threadbare in many places: along the lines of his calves, across his right knee cap, on the diagonal expanse of his left thigh. When he bends down to return the pruning shears to the tool box, the material stretches indecently along the curve of his ass, looking like it’s about to give way any minute now, and Rin wonders if this is an issue of the jeans’ integrity or if Makoto is doing this on purpose.

Makoto stands up and wipes his brow with the back of his other hand, his sandy brown hair glinting gold beneath the afternoon sun. A bead of sweat travels along the line of his spine, briefly resting on the small of his back before slipping into the band of his jeans.

Rin’s mouth runs dry, and without meaning to, his hand is up, and he presses the camera button on his phone, capturing the moment.

The shot is perfect. The sun has wrapped around Makoto like a full-body halo that makes Rin think of marble statues of Western deities and battle-hardened warriors. He thinks of the many nights he’ll be touching himself to this image, imagining Makoto’s body moving on top of him, his large hands gripping Rin’s hips, long fingers spreading him apart. Everything about Makoto seems large, but not too large—enough to wrap around Rin, but not to smother him.

Rin wants Makoto to surround him. He wants Makoto to be like the sun curling around him like a warm hand. He wants Makoto to read him with his body, feel Rin’s thoughts through his skin. Most of all, he wants Makoto to hold him like he would his most priceless possession, and look at him in a way he’ll never look at anyone else.

He wants that side of Makoto, and he wants to be the only person who can bring it out. Haru and the rest of the world can have his gentleness and his kindness, but Rin will be the one to bring out that deep-seated possessiveness, the subconscious desire to carve his mark on what belongs to him. For the longest time, Makoto has remained too selfless, too soft, too madly in love with the world to stake his claim on anything or anyone.

Rin will make it a point to be the first and last.

“Nice job,” he calls out, stepping towards Makoto and handing him a large bottle of water.

“Thanks,” Makoto says with a grateful smile. He downs half the 500ML bottle in one go, and dumps the rest on his head, sighing in bliss as the cold water trickles down his face, soothing the heat sticking to his skin. Some of it splashes unto Rin’s face, and he scowls.

“What the hell—I have a shower you know,” Rin grumbles, wiping off water droplets from his face, before handing Makoto a striped towel. “Wipe yourself down, and don’t get tracks on the floor.”

Makoto laughs and leans in, giving Rin a quick kiss, their lips clinging for a brief moment. He smells like sun and earth, of musk and clean sweat.

It’s making Rin heady. He swallows, and plants a hand on Makoto’s damp chest, pushing him off. “Fuck, you stink. Take your time getting clean.” He takes a deep breath and looks Makoto steadily in the eye.

“I’ll get ready in my room.”

Immediately, Makoto’s eyes turn dark and his smile vanishes, giving way to an expression Rin knows too well. It is reluctance, tinged with fear, and Rin hates it, but he is not going to relent.

“Rin…” Makoto whispers. “Do I really have to? This isn’t what I—“

“You promised,” Rin interrupts brusquely, not about to let Makoto back down now.

Makoto bites his lip, holding Rin’s gaze for a few moments longer, pleading for him to reconsider, but Rin’s will is made of iron, and he’s been with Makoto long enough to resist his charm.

Eventually, Makoto sighs and nods, understanding. He walks back into Rin’s house, clutching his saturated shirt in one hand. The slope of his shoulders are down, dejected, but he is still beautiful walking away.

Rin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, squares his shoulders, and follows him.

*

Rin smoothens out the creases of his bed. Red and black silk sheets, never been used, a luxury he reserved for this one occasion, because it may never happen again.  

 _This is not about the danger_ , he thinks. No, he would be happy if it is simple as that.

He peels off his tank top and lets it flutter to the floor. He unbuttons his jeans, slips out of them, left foot first then the right, and just lets them pool beside his feet. His boxers follow, landing in a place somewhere near the foot of his drawer. His clothes trail from the door to the bed, and for once, he does not bother to put them in the hamper. There will be time enough for that later.

Briefly, he remembers the events of last week, the only reason why this has been made possible.

-

_“Will you wear it for me Rin? Please? I’ll do anything,” Makoto had asked, his smile as sweet as the smell of baking cinnamon and apples permeating the air of Rin’s kitchen, but Rin knew better. This was the Makoto who was determined to get what he wanted, the Makoto whose full attention made people think like they’re being bathed in summer sunshine, subconsciously making it an outright crime to refuse him._

_It was a rare thing when Makoto’s indulgences diverged from what Rin was willing to submit to, and normally, asking Rin to prance around in a frilly, embarrassing relic of his high school days was one of those rare things. However, Makoto threw in the ultimate bargaining chip of “anything,” which was one of the most dangerous words one can say to Matsuoka Rin._

_“Indulge me my kinks,” Rin had answered, leaning back against the kitchen counter and looking up at Makoto from beneath his lashes, gears turning in his head. “And I’ll indulge yours.”_

_One corner of Makoto’s mouth quirked up, pleasantly surprised that Rin gave in easily. Oh, if he only knew. “Fair enough. What are your kinks? That we haven’t done yet anyway.”_

_“I like leather,” Rin said, tipping his head back as Makoto leaned in. “Belts. Collars.”_

_“Sounds hot,” Makoto whispered, his breath fanning along Rin’s ear. “I’ve never worn leather before.”_

_“Who said it’s for you?” Rin scoffed. “I’ll be the one wearing it.”_

_Makoto moved back to look Rin in the eye. “Oh. So your kink is for me to look at you wearing a leather collar?”_

_“Yeah.” Rin smiled coyly, and curled his fingers around Makoto’s tie. “And you touching me while I wear it. Touching the leather wrapped around me.”_

_“You don’t need to bargain for that.” Makoto placed his hands on Rin’s hips, smiling playfully. “What else do you want?”_

_Rin smirked. “If you insist, you can also help me with the gardening.”_

_Makoto laughed quietly, a low rich sound that left a small pang of guilt in Rin’s gut for the deception that he was about to commit. “Done.”_

_Rin ignored the voice in his head responsible for operating his moral compass, and yanked down on Makoto’s tie, forcing him at eye level. “You promise?” he said against Makoto’s lips._

_“Yes, I promise,” Makoto said, and bit down lightly on Rin’s lower lip. “It’ll be like a reward after hours of manual labour.”_

_Rin grinned. “I’ll remember that,” he said, and pressed forward. Makoto’s mouth was hot against his, their tongues curling against each other’s with loose-limbed familiarity. He let go of Makoto’s tie and gripped his hair, pulling him down, taking the lead, washing away his guilt with Makoto’s taste._

_“Okay,” Makoto said breathlessly as they pulled apart after a few moments. “Can you wear it now?”_

_“So pushy,” Rin said, rolling his eyes, but he picked up the bag containing that maid costume Makoto somehow unearthed from his old boxes, and marched into the bathroom to change._

-

Rin feels guilty about tricking Makoto like that, but it was the only way.

The belt is an old one, a broad black leather, with the stopper ripped free. It’s cinched around Rin’s neck, not yet too tight, but with barely any give. It digs into his skin, and Rin wonders how long he’ll have to wear turtle necks to cover the bruise it will surely leave behind.

Rin shouldn’t be thrilled with the prospect. But he is, and just the thought of Makoto leaving his marks on Rin makes him hot, makes his skin flush with anticipation, with a promise yet to be fulfilled.

“Don’t ask me anything. You should know. I shouldn’t have to answer,” Rin instructs.

“But Rin…”

“You promised me,” Rin says, voice low, with the barest hint of a threat. “I _want_ this, Makoto.”

Makoto bites his lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.” Rin closes his eyes, and spreads his legs, feeling the silk of the sheets crinkle beneath his skin. He takes a few moments to appreciate the stillness of the room, broken only by the sound of their breathing, and the faint hum of the air conditioner.

He opens his eyes, and meets Makoto’s gaze head on. The yellow glow of the room makes Makoto’s already soft expression look even softer, the stark green of his gaze the only measure of sharpness on his face. “That’s why you’re the only one I can trust to do this.”

_I want you to look at me and know what I want from you. I want you to own me and make me feel it. I want you to hold my life in your hands, and know that I am willing to place it there._

Rin picks up the rest of the belt, and hands the end to Makoto. “Please,” he says quietly.

Makoto reaches out, hesitantly, fingers ghosting across the leather, and takes it.

*

It starts slow, experimental tugs here and there, nothing too tight, nothing too long, just enough to pinch Rin’s breath and make his lungs ache. Having one of his hands occupied is keeping Makoto out of his usual element. Normally, he likes to touch Rin all over, his hands akin to temperate brands roaming the acres of Rin’s skin, though he is careful to leave no marks, in deference to Rin’s profession. Rin remembers them all the same.

Tonight though, without one hand, he compensates with his mouth— lips, tongue and teeth trailing an upward path from Rin’s chest, to the slope of his shoulders, then to the curve of his neck, detouring slightly to nibble at the soft cartilage of his earlobe, before finally melding with Rin’s lips.

Makoto grip is still hesitant on the belt, but his mouth is sure, kissing Rin with such tender thoroughness, like he wants to taste Rin’s very soul. The belt around Rin’s neck tightens again, stealing his breath, distracting him from the burning stretch of Makoto’s slick fingers working him open. It is one of the few things Makoto is good at with his hands— his fingers are never invasive, only slow, thorough, taking Rin apart with gentle ruthlessness. Rin keens and opens like a bloom, surrendering to this familiarity like a moth to the flame.

It’s a strange but exhilarating experience, being kissed like this, like drowning without water, the ache in his lungs tempered by the pleasure racing in his veins. It ends, a bit too soon, Rin biting softly on Makoto’s lower lip before  Makoto moves back, his fingers slipping out of Rin, and motions for Rin to turn over, and get on his knees.

Rin obliges, and adjusts the belt around his neck as he leans his weight onto his forearms. The rest of the belt lies parallel along the length of his spine as he slowly, sensually, raises his hips, smiling secretly at the audible hitch of Makoto’s breath. 

When Makoto pushes inside him, the makeshift collar also tightens around Rin’s throat. Rin lets out a strained hum of satisfaction at the dual sensations of Makoto filling Rin with his flesh, and simultaneously taking his breath; giving Rin what he wants and denying him something else. Only with Makoto does Rin know that taking is not the negation of giving, but the complement.

Then Makoto moves. The belt leaves just enough slack to make the pinching tightness just the tiniest bit bearable, restricting most of Rin’s breathing, but not all the way through. It’s not enough yet, but it’s getting better.

Makoto’s pace is punishingly slow, the roll of his hips languid, drawing it out. Sex with Makoto is always a transcendent experience – Rin brings the intensity, Makoto, the intimacy. And there is nothing more intense and intimate than this, Rin’s life literally in Makoto’s hands, their bodies joined together in a steady pursuit for completion.

It is the easiest thing in the world to lose himself to the rhythmic press of Makoto's hips, his body opening up to Makoto's girth, pleasure curling in his stomach and settling indolently on the skin of his bones. Rin closes his eyes, letting the sensations wash over him like a wave.

Without warning, Makoto stills his movements, and the leather around Rin’s neck tightens once more, trapping Rin’s next breath in his throat. Rin grips the sheets to stop himself from reflexively grasping the belt. He turns his head as far as the belt allows to glare at Makoto in protest.

Still inside him, Makoto’s left hand skims along the length of Rin’s body, fingers lightly gliding over the expanse of Rin’s back, skittering against the sharp jut of his hipbones, barely there touches meant to drive Rin insane for more. Makoto doesn’t say anything, simply studying Rin as he continues to touch him, as if silently waiting for Rin to give up this foolish notion _. I’ll touch you more,_ his eyes say. _I’ll_ _fuck you so hard, you’ll feel me for days. Just take this away from me._

But Rin will not lose. The temptation is great, but his purpose is greater.  He’ll bend as far as far extends, but he will not break; Makoto will have to either fuck him or kill him. Black spots are starting to form at the corner of his vision, but he doesn’t move, rebellious to the very end,  and simply stares back, letting Makoto drink in the image of him staying still and silent, as his breath trickles to nothing.

The belt loosens abruptly, and the sudden rush of oxygen makes Rin gasp, as his burning lungs fill with air.

“Sorry,” Makoto says softly. He runs the leather tip of the belt along the cleft of Rin’s ass, as if to extend his apology. Then, just as abruptly, he thrusts back in, angling his hips to home in on _that_ spot.

If Rin had the breath to swear, he would’ve released a torrent of malediction at the almost brutal pleasure lancing through him like a knife, but all that escapes his lips is a voiceless cry. Makoto matches his thrusts with the tightening of the belt, and Rin swings wildly between agony and pleasure in too-fast intervals. His heartbeat quickens, barely catching up.

Rin feels the familiar build-up deep within his belly, and he panics; he doesn’t want this to end yet. He turns his head to look at Makoto again, trying to convey his thoughts. _Not yet, make this last_ , he begs silently, but Makoto doesn’t slow down, eyes hooded, almost as if he’s doing this only out of obligation. Just when Rin is about to come, Makoto pulls halfway out and stops again.

His eyes look pained, and Rin knows what is coming. “I can’t do thi—“

Rin twists around, disengaging himself from Makoto, and lays down on his back. He glares at Makoto with all his might, letting him know exactly what he thought of _that._ “Don’t you fucking dare run away now.”

“Rin… " Makoto's voice is shaky. "What do you _want?_ ” 

_I want you to fashion roads on the stretch of my spine with your lips.  I want you to grow a garden of bruises on my thighs. I want you to draw a map of yourself on my skin with your teeth. But more than any of that, I want that indelible mark: of you owning my breath and life even if only for a few moments, pushing me to the edge of death and bringing me back. I want to thank you for the trust you chose to give me in the only way I know how._ “I want you to hold my breath and fuck me,” he replies tersely. "You promised, Makoto."

Makoto looks away, jaw clenched.  Fresh sweat has broken out on both their skins, fevered from their coupling, but Rin feels a chill run down his spine. Makoto takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a challenge, for a fight, and for a few terrifying moments, Rin thinks he’s going to drop this and leave.

But when he looks back at Rin again, there’s a new light in his gaze, the same light that means he is facing something he fears, and he will meet it head on. Like the ocean, that night of their training camp. Tonight, Rin is Makoto’s ocean, which is just as well; tonight he wants Makoto to conquer him, understand him, own him for even just a few moments, in a way Rin won’t allow from anyone else.

Makoto takes the end of the belt and clenches it between his teeth, leaving his hands free to spread Rin’s thighs apart, and grip Rin’s hips to refine his control. And it shows: when he slides back into Rin, it is with purpose, with power, giving his all.  Rin welcomes it, takes it, because finally, Makoto is giving him what he wants, showing Rin the strength of his resolve, eclipsing the fear.

 _For you,_   Makoto’s eyes say. _Only for you_.  

Makoto moves again, his pace rougher, wilder, as if seeking his own completion instead of Rin’s. His grip on Rin’s hips are hard enough to bruise, and Rin only grows more aroused for it, his cock straining against his stomach as Makoto fucks him into the mattress, and leaving him no breath to even _beg_.

When Makoto comes, it is quiet, his breath coming out in a rush. Beneath him, Rin trembles, twice denied of his own orgasm, still held in place by the belt cinched around his neck.

Makoto is still half-hard, inside him, and when he lifts his head to look at Rin, his gaze is still sharp, intensity running deep beneath the stillness.

_Please._

Makoto nods. He removes the belt from his mouth, holds it in his right hand again, and his stare is so disarmingly direct, Rin almost flinches from it.

Then Makoto pulls, and the belt tightens, harder than ever, cutting off even Rin’s most shallow breathing, effectively putting a foreseeable expiration to his life. Never has Rin’s self-discipline been challenged so much as this moment; every instinct in his body is screaming at him to wrench the belt from Makoto’s grip, but he fights it. This is it, the moment he’s been waiting for.

Makoto’s hand wraps around Rin’s cock, stroking gently, and it’s almost too much; his lungs burn with pain while the rest of his body drowns in waves of pleasure. Losing life and breath like this, everything seems brighter and slower, Makoto’s features thrown in sharp relief,  the movement of his calloused palm around Rin’s cock almost indolent in its thoroughness.

“Beautiful,” he hears Makoto whisper, and there is such tenderness in his eyes, that Rin doesn’t even make a gesture of protest when Makoto slowly pulls the belt up, forcing Rin's back to arch off the bed, the leather biting even deeper into his throat. “And mine.”

 _Yes._ Rin surprises himself with how much joy those two words give him. _Yours._

Belatedly, he realizes there are tears in his eyes now; he can hardly see, much less think straight. He fixes his gaze at the general latitude of where Makoto’s eyes are.  Rin has never doubted Makoto’s ability for wondrous stillness, and it shows; his hand around the belt doesn’t tremble, even as Rin’s tears spill over the pillow. He knows how much this hurts Makoto, forcing himself to watch Rin ruin himself by his own hand, but at this moment, Rin doesn’t care anymore; he’s on the brink of coming and _dying_ , Makoto’s touch disintegrating all higher thought in Rin’s mind.

 _Please_ , Rin begs with his eyes, _I need you to say it._

Makoto removes his grip from Rin’s cock, stalling Rin’s orgasm for a third time, and Rin wants to sob at the agony of it. So many times he’s been pushed to the edge, getting closer and closer, but never going through, and it finally dawns on him, that this is it; this is Makoto owning him. This is Makoto knowing what Rin wants and giving it to him, but in his own terms, not conceding entirely to Rin, but not refusing him either.

Makoto leans over, so that he's directly above Rin, and kisses his tears away. When he leans back up, he keeps his gaze steady, unflinching, anticipating a sign Rin can only guess at. Rin struggles to look back, straining, his throat raw, mind half-conscious, still left teetering on the edge of release. The corners of his vision are pressing tighter, to the point where the rest of the room bleeds into darkness, and the only light he can see is the one behind Makoto’s green eyes. Until all he knows is Makoto, until his whole world is drowning in the depth of Makoto’s gaze.

_Please, I just want to… Let me—_

The belt slackens, and Makoto’s voice pierces through the veil of haziness, powerful but gentle, wrapping around Rin’s mind like fine silk, like wine, like the next breath of air to a drowning man.

“Come, Rin,” he whispers.

Rin breathes, and like paper on water, he falls apart.

~fin~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I gave Rin a house and a garden as an elaborate excuse to passionately objectify sexy gardener Makoto. No, I don't regret it.


End file.
